


Into the Peterverse

by RoseWinterborn



Series: Penumbra Magnus Crossover [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast), The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: F/F, Other, This started out as crack and then it got sad, a happy ending though!, sorry y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 19:09:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20980919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseWinterborn/pseuds/RoseWinterborn
Summary: Peter Nureyev and Peter Lukas switch places for a couple of hours. No one has a good time.





	Into the Peterverse

**Author's Note:**

> Created in part by @skitpost, @nidopul, and @Starry-Shades, after a long and drawn out discussion of all the nuances of these shenanigans...
> 
> Update: Now edited for consistent tenses!

Juno knew something was off the second he woke up cold in a climate-controlled ship, a glacial fog rolling in through the crack under his door. He flailed out of bed and went for his blaster, ears pricked for any sounds that might clue him in, watching that damn fog for any sign of gas. The _second _he started feeling dizzy…

There were voices in the hallway. Buddy, cool and composed. Vespa, furious and scared. Jet, toneless and solid. No Peter, no Rita, but an unfamiliar male voice, speaking a language Juno couldn’t understand.

“You have one more chance to tell me how you got onto my ship, sir,” Buddy was saying, as Juno eased his door open. He peered out into the hallway; the stranger’s back was to him. Good.

He set the blaster to stun, carefully lined up his shot, and fired, striking the man square in the back of his old-fashioned cable-knit sweater. The stranger dropped like a sack of potatoes, and over his fallen form, Juno met Buddy’s eyes.

“What the hell is going on?”

***

Jon knew something was about to happen; this many tape recorders wouldn't have appeared surreptitiously on his desk otherwise. However, having fully expected the event to be an eldritch horror breaking into the institute, he wasn’t certain what to do with the tall, angular man in the avant-garde suit that was currently speaking gibberish at him. 

Jon pushed the tapes away--six of them--and leaned back in his chair, grateful for the desk between them. “Are you...here to make a statement?”

More gibberish. Jon’s heart crawled up into his throat as the man started to gesture around the room, looking perfectly confident in his communication skills. Something about him was profoundly unsettling, and Jon couldn’t help but be reminded of Helen, her ungodly fingers and eerie laugh somehow seeming to pale next to this strange, strange man. 

Jon started to recognize words in the man’s tirade, just a few here and there, and after a long moment the Eye seemed to catch on and Jon was able to make out the man’s words. 

“...Terribly sorry to intrude like this, I’ll just be going now…”

“No, stop, hold on, how did you get in here?” _What were those tape recorders doing on his desk? _They whirred expectantly, the tape turning dizzyingly in the case. Jon forced himself to focus on the man in the doorway. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know what you mean, my dear man. I’ve just found myself a bit lost, wandering into this...building. I was looking for the nearest public restroom, you see…”

“So you’re not here to make a statement?”

The man blinked, the tiniest furrow creasing his brow. “I really haven’t the faintest idea what you mean. Is this...is this a police station?”

“_No--” _Jon scrubbed a hand across his eyes, his head suddenly aching. “This is the _Magnus. Institute. _Center for esoteric research? London, England?”

“London!” The man’s face lit up. “I’ve never been to London. How remarkable.”

“_How did you get in here?” _

“I really don’t know, Mister…” the stranger gestured towards him, seeking introduction. 

“Sims,” Jon sighed. What was the harm? “And you are?”

“James Algernon, at your service.” The man swept into a deep bow, and Jon scowled at him, watching the papers on his desk flutter from the motion.

“Stop that.”

“My apologies.” Mr. Algernon grinned, straightening. “Now, Mr. Sims, if you would be so kind as to show me the way out, I’d be immensely grateful.”

Jon looked the man up and down once more. He looked to be halfway between a model and a cartoon character, a caricature of what a human being was supposed to be. He was tall, rail thin but wiry, with fidgety, long fingers and a hard shine in his dark eyes that made Jon profoundly nervous. “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Jon said, finally. Under no circumstances was he turning this..._thing _loose in the streets of London. 

“Perhaps you could join me?” Algernon slunk a bit closer, a slow grin stealing across his face. “I haven’t been to London before, I could use someone to show me the sights.” It had been a while since he’d been to Earth at all, let alone England…

Wait.

What?

Jon snapped back in his chair, pushing it away from his desk in a with a sharp sound. When he spoke, his voice was clipped, with the full force of the Eye in every word. _“Who are you, and what are you doing in my archive?”_

The man went rigid, spine straightening, jaw tensing, eyes going cold. He loomed over Jon in a way that made made Jon acutely aware of how little space was between them, even as he tripped over his words: “My name is Peter Nureyev, and to be perfectly honest with you, I have no idea. But if you do that again, you won’t live to find out.”

***

“What do we do with him?” Juno asked. The stranger was cuffed to one of the kitchen chairs in the cargo bay, chin slumped against his chest. He was starting to stir as the stun blast wore off, but it gave Juno a moment to study him. He was an older man, the kind that Juno might have admired from across a bar once upon a time. Looked like a sea captain, like from old earth art that Juno had seen in the Colonized History Museum, rough skin and grey beard and all.

“That’s largely going to depend on what he’s doing on my ship,” Buddy’s voice was cold. “I want to know why he’s here and how. Juno, if you’ll go wake the others, thank you."

Juno nodded and stepped towards the door, passing her his blaster as he left, though he could see Jet and Vespa were already armed to the teeth.

Waking Rita was no easy feat, involving a lot of shouting and repeating key phrases until they registered. And waking Nureyev-- _James Algernon_\--was impossible.

Juno couldn’t find him anywhere.

He checked every room on the ship, made sure each pod was accounted for, and tried to ignore the fluttering panic crowding his chest.

Nureyev was missing, there was a stranger on the ship, and something was horribly wrong.

***

Jon’s office was...crowded. Daisy had taken to her usual corner, while Basira leaned against the door frame, blocking the room’s only escape route. Across from Jon, draped across his chair like it was the most comfortable seat in the world, sat Peter Nureyev, master thief from a planet not yet discovered, speaking a language centuries from its birth, and eyeing Jon with the kind of expression he’d come to expect from Elias when the man was particularly cross. 

“Well, we’re all here,” Basira said sharply. “Get on with it, Jon. What’s going on?”

“This is Mr. Peter Nureyev, and he’s here to...make a statement, I suppose.” Jon eyed the tapes, which had multiplied since his colleagues’ arrival. There were ten of the things now, each whirring noisily. 

“Am I?” he asked coldly. “I don’t recall agreeing to that. 

“Well, I can’t think of a better explanation for why you’re here,” Jon snapped. 

“What language are you _speaking?” _Daisy asked, some sort of horrified interest in her tone. 

Jon paused, looking from her to Peter Nureyev. “Not English, I suppose. What language _are _we speaking?”

Mr. Nureyev tilted his head. “Solar.”

“I...take it it’s a bit beyond our time,” Jon hedged. 

“Most likely,” the man agreed. “It’s spoken mostly in the inner solar system, so you’re in the correct region, at least.”

“...Good to know,” Jon said. He turned to Daisy. “Solar, apparently. It’s the language spoken in...six hundred years?”

“Give or take.”

“You’re just having a laugh,” Basira said. 

“Do I look like I’m laughing, Basira?” Jon asked. “I have just as little idea what’s happening as you.”

“What is going _on_?” Daisy asked. 

“This man is from the future. From space.”

“Oh, is he now?” Basira raised an eyebrow. 

“He is,” Jon insisted. “If he were lying, Basira, I’d know.”

A long look passed between them, Basira’s eyes hard and Jon’s begging for her understanding.

“He’s right, ‘Sira,” Daisy said quietly. Her eyes were fixed on Mr. Nureyev, her jaw knotted. “He’d know.”

After another long moment, Basira sighed. “Fine. Go on, then. Take his stupid statement.”

Jon nodded and sat up, the act of straightening his spine causing it to crack ominously in several places. Even Mr. Nureyev looked a bit concerned.

“Mr. Nureyev--” Jon began.

“Please don’t call me that.”

“It’s...your name, isn’t it?” Jon asked, confused. 

“It is,” the man said, eyes cool. “That’s why I’d prefer to keep it to myself.”

Jon felt a flash of discomfort, a lack of anonymity that was so far from its original context that he couldn’t comprehend it, but he _understood. _“What, ah. Would you prefer I called you instead?”

“...Bell. Perseus Bell,” the man said, after a long moment of consideration.

“Do you do that often?” Jon asked wearily.

“Do what?”

“Pull a new name out of thin air?”

“Yes. Frequently. My real name...has a history. It links me to things I’d prefer to avoid.”

“You’re a criminal?” Jon said, before feeling very stupid. Of course he was a criminal, the man was a _thief. _

“A terrorist,” Mr. Bell agreed congenially. “Or a rebel, depending on who you talk to.”

Jon geot more flashes, a room full of sticky red light, a panel of flashing buttons, a knife dripping blood. “Ah.”

“So,” Mr. Bell said, stretching a bit and cocking his head to the side. “You wanted my statement?”

***

“I can’t find him,” Juno sputtered. “I’ve searched the whole damn ship, I don’t know where he could have gone--”

“Calm down, Juno,” Buddy said. Her voice was about halfway between soothing and irate. He closed his eye tight and focused on his breathing, and _not _on the mental image of Peter’s body floating through the void of space.

When he opened it again, the stranger was watching him with interest.

“You’re Lonely,” he said, and even through the translator strapped to his neck Juno could hear the capital L.

He didn’t like that at all.

“What’s it to you if I am?” he asked stiffly.

“To me? Nothing. To my god?” he chuckled. “_Everything_.”

“Who are you?” Buddy asked sharply. She’d taken a seat across from him, somehow making a stack of boxes look like a throne. 

“Peter Lukas,” the man said. “I’d shake your hand, but, well.” He chuckled again, and Juno decided it was a good thing Buddy had his blaster because otherwise he would have shot him again. 

“And how did you get on my ship?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” Lukas said. “Which is a shame, because it is a very nice ship. Very...” He paused, eyes roving the crew gathered before him with satisfaction. “Filling.”

***

“I was born--will be born, I suppose--on an outer rim planet called Brahma in the mid-twenty-sixth century. I was raised by a man--a thief--named Mag, who taught me the tools of my trade.” Mr. Bell studied his nails as he speaks, voice clipped, words clearly chosen with care despite the nonchalance of his tone. “And for a long time, that’s all I was. A thief.” He gave a feral grin. “A very _good _thief.”

Jon made a note to ensure nothing was missing after the man’s...departure.

“Then I was hired by a woman named Miasma. Brilliant, accomplished xenoanthropologist. Leading expert on ancient Martian artifacts.”

“Ancient Martian artifacts?” Basira repeated. 

“That’s what he said,” Jon said tiredly, having translated the man’s speech to the others in the room.

“Not the weirdest thing I’ve heard all day,” Daisy put in matter-of-factly. 

“Right,” Jon agreed. “Carry on, Mr. Bell.”

“I stole a lot of things for Miasma. Martian artifacts, all of them. A key, the throne of Architeuthis, ancient Martian teleporters. I intended for the thefts to be perfectly clean, but she always sent a crew after me to...tie up loose ends.” Mr. Bell pursed his lips. “I never liked that, but to be quite honest I never felt at liberty to say anything. She was a singularly ruthless woman, and paid handsomely to boot.

“Then...the Death Mask of Grimpotheuthis. I was interrupted on that heist, trying to unlock the mask’s case. It was rather exciting, really. After I left, the mask’s owner was murdered. Of course, I couldn’t leave without the mask--if Miasma was willing to kill my marks, what would she be willing to do to me if I failed her? So I posed as a federal agent to get access to the crime scene.” Jon felt a curious sensation pass through his chest--through Mr. Bell’s chest--as the man smiled, an expression both fond and impossibly sad all in one. “I met Juno on that case.”

***

They couldn’t get anything out of Lukas, to the consternation of, well, everyone. Other than that he had no idea who this _James Algernon_ was, or why everyone was so concerned for his wellbeing. Buddy assigned Juno to watch him as she took Vespa, who was starting to go pale, out of the room. Jet, after a moment of indecision, followed after. 

Rita stayed resolutely at Juno’s side, and he was grateful. He didn’t like the way looking at the man made him feel. Like everything was muted, grey. Feelings were far away, and he was just...cold. A few months ago, he would have reveled in that kind of emptiness, but now...he knew there was nothing for him that way.

Rita kept him warm. 

She was quiet, tapping along on her comms while Juno studied every part of the room that wasn’t Peter Lukas. The man didn’t seem to mind being ignored, but somehow that only put Juno more on edge. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the man’s broad face creasing in a smile that was just...smug, all right? It was smug, and it was pissing Juno off.

“What’s so funny?” he finally snapped. 

“Oh, nothing,” Lukas said amiably. “Just the atmosphere in this room. Even with her here, you’re a real treat.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your loneliness. It’s an absolute delicacy. I’ve met some lonely people in my time, but you....Juno, was it? You’re a full meal.”

The cold feeling bloomed in Juno’s chest, like it was going to crack his ribs in its expansion. It was such a profound _emptiness _that it made his eyes water, his lungs seize. For a moment, he was standing in the door of a hotel room, looking back on possible happiness and choosing to walk away, to cut himself off before someone else could. 

Choosing to feed this man’s _god. _

“I gotta tell you, Mista Lukas, you’re makin’ me _real_ uncomfortable talkin’ about the boss like he’s food,” Rita said, fixing her eyes on him from over her comms screen. 

“Am I?” Lukas asked, eyes twinkling. 

Juno shuddered, the feeling ebbing slightly away. 

Rita sat up straight (it didn’t have much of an effect, small as she was, but it was an admirable attempt) and set her comms aside. “You go on, Mista Steel. I think I can watch ‘im.” 

“Buddy said--” 

“I know what Miss Buddy said. But I don’t like the way he’s lookin’ at you, boss. Go tell the other’s I’ve got it.” There was a curious sort of glint in Rita’s eye that Juno didn’t know what to do with, so he just sighed, and shook his head. He fumbled around in his pockets until he found his plasma cutter, and handed it to her. She gave him a bright smile in return. “Thanks boss! Now, go have fun with our friends.”

As Juno left the room, he heard the sound of Rita scooting her crate a bit closer to the captive asshole, and the telltale tone of her getting ready to go on a tangent about her latest stream.

***

“Juno Steel,” Mr. Bell sighed. “Private Eye. Perfect shot, dashing lady. He saw...right through me. I put on the performance of my life, and he handcuffed me to a chair at the end of the night, demanding to know my game.” He laughed. “I asked him to run away with me.”

_The sensation of a kiss, rough lips, the taste of whiskey, fingers on his jaw. His own fingers, closing around a set of keys in the other man’s pocket. _

_“Rex…” what he wouldn’t give to hear that voice say his real name with exactly that tone, preferably after he’s done something extremely clever with his fingers or tongue…_

_“Juno?”_

_“Has anyone ever told you...you’re under arrest?”_

_“Oh, Juno! Usually not until the second date!”_

_“I mean it, Glass.”_

Jon jerked back into himself, choking on his own tongue. He could feel a blush rising into his cheeks, hot and prickling. 

“Are you alright, Mr. Sims?” Mr. Bell asked, raising an eyebrow. He looks perfectly unruffled, and Jon can’t help but feel a surge of annoyance.

“Fine,” he snaps. “After he turned you over to the police, what happened?”

“I--” Mr. Bell looked surprised. “I escaped, of course. I didn’t see him again for several months. Tried to steal another artifact in that time, but he got to it first. A Martian mind-reading pill.”

Basira scoffed, and Jon and Mr. Bell both elected to ignore her. 

“He called for me through a mutual contact, so I broke into his apartment. He was...exceedingly pleased to see me.”

_“Hello, Juno. It’s been awhile.”_

_“Nn--**Nureyev**?”_

_“The very same! Don’t get too comfortable, Detective, we’re leaving. Immediately.”_

_“If you think I’m going **anywhere **with you--”_

“Exceedingly pleased,” Jon repeated dryly. 

Mr. Bell tilted his head to the side. “Are you...reading my mind, Mr. Sims?”

“I--” Jon’s mouth gaped like a fish, and he was helpless to stop it. “Yes.”

“How interesting.” Some of Mr. Bell’s coolness returned, and Jon felt it as much as he saw it, rolling off the man in waves. 

“Sorry,” Jon said.

“Hm. Should I continue my _statement, _or would you prefer to just take it from me?”

“Please continue, Mr. Bell,” Jon said. “I’ll try...to behave myself.”

Mr. Bell pursed his lips, but did continue. “We robbed an unrobbable train, Juno and I. The Egg of Puris, the last weapon the Martians ever built. Miasma hired me to steal it, but I had no intention of letting it fall into her hands. I was going to destroy it, or at the very least have it destroyed. But she found us first.”

Jon felt a wave of regret, of sorrow, and forced himself not to pull. 

“She tortured us. For weeks. Juno had swallowed the pill, and it was building itself like a tumor behind his eye. And she wanted it. She wanted it enough to kill us both for it, and she would have, given the chance. I managed to escape, but. Juno was in no state to go with me. I went back for him, and I have to say, my timing was _impeccable. _Another few hours and I wouldn’t have been able to save him.”

“But you almost lost him anyway,” Jon said, unable to help himself. Mr. Bell’s eyes were frigid. “Sorry. I...can’t stop all of it.”

“Yes,” the man said, through gritted teeth. “He. Locked himself in a room with the bomb. Self-sacrificing _idiot._” 

_He was pounding on a door, begging Juno to open it. It didn’t have to end like this, it couldn’t, that impossible idiot--_

“The bomb didn’t kill him. It was tuned only to Martian DNA, so it killed Miasma perfectly well. Saved me the trouble.” There was a savage curl to Mr. Bell’s lip, and Jon shuddered, glad the expression wasn’t turned on him. “I was able to get him to a hospital after that. He was exhausted, and malnourished, and they couldn’t save his eye--the growth had exploded, you see--but he was alive.”

“I see the Corruption is alive and well in six hundred years,” Jon murmured, making a note on the nearest sheet of paper. 

“I’m sorry?” Mr. Bell said sharply. Jon waved him off. 

“Sorry. Not relevant. Go on.”

“I took him to a hospital, then we checked into a hotel. It was...really a very tame night, by all definitions.”

_Frantic, hungry kisses, grasping hands, names moaned into the dim light, bruises sucked into necks and hip bones--_

“Tame,” Jon croaked, tugging on his collar. His stomach was turning over in his abdomen and it was exceedingly uncomfortable. 

Mr. Bell smirked at him. “Quite.” Then his expression melted into something sorrowful, and Jon felt the Eye’s interest grow. “I woke up alone, the morning after. He’d left while I was asleep.”

“I’m. I’m so sorry,” Jon breathed. He fought to keep Beholding at bay, knowing it Wanted the man’s pain. 

Mr. Bell waved him off, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It was a year ago,” he said quietly. 

“Still, that’s...not ideal,” Jon said awkwardly. 

Basira broke the uncomfortable silence that followed with an impatient sound. “So, what, are we just going to listen to him talk about his awful one night stand, or are we going to figure out how he got into the archives in the first place?”

“He doesn’t know,” Jon said. “I’ve already asked.”

“And was he telling the truth?”

“Yes. I _Asked.”_

Basira sighed. “Fine. So how are we going to fix this, then?”

“I...don’t know. I hadn’t gotten there, yet.”

“Great. Some problem solver you are.”

“I might have an idea,” Daisy said. All eyes turned to her, and she squirmed uncomfortably.

“Yes?” Jon asked, trying to sound encouraging and not impatient.

“What about, ah, Helen?” Daisy asked. “Could she open a door to wherever he’s come from?”

Jon nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps.” A pause. “Basira, would you--”

She was already turning to leave. “Anything to get this freak out of the institute.”

Jon flinched on Mr. Bell’s behalf. “I’m sorry about Basira,” he said. “She’s...stressed.”

“I see,” Mr. Bell said. “You’ll have to tell me more about your place of work, Mr. Sims, I rather feel I’m missing something.”

“To be perfectly honest, Mr. Bell, I hope we don’t have that kind of time,” Jon sighed. He chewed on his lip for a moment, then asked, “Juno. He’s important to you?”

The man looked like he was about to deny it, but instead he reluctantly nodded. “He is...more important to me than anything else in the galaxy,” he said softly, and Jon felt the full force of his _yearning, _and he couldn’t help himself before the question fell from his mouth: “Tell me about Juno.”

***

Juno stayed in the hallway, just out of sight, just in case Rita needed him.

She didn’t seem to, keeping up a barrage of mindless chatter that almost made him smile; he hadn’t realized it until recently, but somewhere along the line her tangents had become his favorite background noise.

“Excuse me, Rita, is it?” Lukas asked, voice finally showing signs of discomfort. 

“Yeah Mista Lukas?”

“Do you ever...ah, what’s the word...shut up?”

“Neva.”

Juno almost gave his position away with a snort of laughter, and leaned his head back against the wall. He drew his knees up to his chest and listened to her tell Peter Lukas all about the love quadrangle in her latest stream, carefully telling him all the most unimportant details. He could hear the straining of the cuffs as the old man tested them.

His Peter wasn’t like that.

In fact, his Peter found Rita’s tirades _fascinating_. Rita had abandoned Juno as her stream-watching partner for over a month after they’d moved in, electing to watch with Peter (_James) _instead, because he “reacts in all the right places, Mista Steel, and he doesn’t pick apart the plot like you do!” It had taken a week of begging and a fortune in snacks to win his way back into her good graces, and even then it hadn’t gone back to Rita-and-Steel stream nights. 

Nureyev was always there, after that. Keeping his careful distance, though Juno could feel his eyes slide over him every so often. It made him feel warm inside, to feel Nureyev’s eyes on him. 

Not like this Peter. Not like the bastard Rita was talking to death in the other room. 

Juno closed his eye, wished on the stars. Prayed to whatever god was listening--that wasn’t Peter Lukas’s--that he’d get another chance to ask Peter Nureyev to forgive him.

***

“Jon--” Daisy warned, but it was too late. The damage was done. 

But instead of going stiff and furious like before, Mr. Bell--Peter Nureyev--sagged like a weight had been lifted as the words began to pour from his lips. “Juno Steel. He’s a detective. Or was, rather. He was a righteous fool, standing up against a world that didn’t give a damn about him. He was a shining goddess in a cesspit, fighting for a city that didn’t deserve his loyalty. He was...so brave, and so _stupid--” _The man was shaking, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks. “Please let me stop.”

“I’m sorry, I--” Jon swallowed hard, willing the Eye to let him go. “But he’s...Juno’s still alive, isn’t he? You talk about him like he’s dead.”

The man across from him took several breaths to compose himself, and when he met Jon’s eyes across the desk it was a challenge. A challenge to Look, to _Know._

Jon Looked. 

_He sees a cave and two battered men, curled around each other for comfort and warmth. He sees a shut door, Peter Nureyev’s desperate hands pounding on it, his voice pleading. He sees a hotel room, two battered men curled around each other, for. Well. Comfort, of a sort. And then the man called Peter Nureyev is alone, as always, alone alone alone…_

“Jon?” Daisy asked tentatively, and he snapped back into himself. His own cheeks were damp, and he wiped them sharply. He heard Mr. Bell take a shuddering breath. 

"He may be alive, Mr. Sims. But Peter Nureyev is dead, and Juno Steel killed him."

One last image lingered in Jon’s mind as he adjusted his glasses: that of a dark-skinned man _(a lady) _standing at the bottom of a ramp in a tattered trench coat outlined in red sand, the dust in his hair and on his clothes highlighted by the twinkling of distant city lights and the glow of the open door before him. He felt the maelstrom in Peter Nureyev’s chest at that sight, two parts terror and infinite parts elation, adoration, _love. _

He felt the desolate emptiness in his chest ache in comparison, his thoughts finding their way to Martin, wherever he was in the institute, hiding away from the world, from _Jon…_

He cleared his throat. “Well, Mr. Nur--Bell. We’re going to find a way to get you home. And when we do, I want you to...talk, to your Juno Steel.”

“I….” Peter Nureyev swallowed hard, and averted his gaze. After a moment, he said softly, “I rather think I do, too.”

There was a soft creak as a door opened, one that wasn’t the already-open door out into the hall. Jon fought a strange sense of vertigo as Helen stepped over the threshold, hair a wild cloud, fingers dragging the carpet. 

Mr. Bell leapt from his seat, knives appearing in his hands as if by magic (had he had those the whole time?) and Jon leapt up as well. “No, stop! Peter!”

The man pointed one of the knives at him, narrowing his eyes, and Jon corrected himself. “Mr. Bell.”

“What?”

“She may be the only way for us to get you home.”

He adjusted his grip on his knives. “How?”

“Helen,” Jon said, keeping a sideways eye on Mr. Bell. “Can you open a door to get this man home?”

“Certainly, Archivist,” she purred. “It shouldn’t be any harder than bringing him here in the first place.”

Jon choked and abruptly forgot what he was going to say next. “W-_what_?”

Helen shrugged, offering a tiny, simpering smile. “I was bored, Archivist. I don’t like being bored.”

Jon swallowed his questions--there were many--and stole a glance at Peter Nureyev, who was standing very, very still and looked very, very pale. 

“Please, Helen. Just take him home.”

“Of course,” she said. Jon swallowed the twinge of crawling up his throat, willing himself to trust Helen to do as he asked. He couldn’t compel her, but. Perhaps there was still enough _Helen _left in her to be kind. 

***

There was a faint crashing sound, and the rhythmic pounding of footsteps. Juno opened his eye and sat up straight, turning his head towards the sound so he could see properly. There, tearing down the hallway towards him, was Peter Nureyev, gait frantic, eyes wild, hair decidedly mussed.

“Pe--J--_Alger--” _Juno scrambled to his feet. 

Peter crashed into him, crushing him in a hug that Juno didn’t understand but _absolutely_ didn’t mind. He crushed Peter back, digging his fingers into his shoulderblades to anchor him close. “I thought you were dead,” Juno gasped, feeling the telltale prickling of tears against his eyelid.

Peter’s hand came up to cradle the back of his head, and he rocked them gently. Juno realized he was sobbing, but only because he could hear a loud, irritable sigh from the captive in the other room. 

“Well, that’s not the genre of tears I was hoping for,” he heard Lukas say.

“Too bad, Mista Lukas. That’s the only genre you’re gonna get. Anyway, so then the marshmallow lady says…”

Peter stiffened in Juno’s arms, and for a horrible moment Juno feared he’d come to his senses. 

“Who is that?”

“Peter Lukas. Appeared right after you...left,” Juno stammered. He pressed his forehead into Peter’s breastbone, not wanting to let go yet. 

“Well. I imagine I know where he came from,” Peter said. He was starting to sound like himself again, and carefully eased out of Juno’s embrace, leaving hollowness in his place. It must have shown on Juno’s face, because he brought his hands to Juno’s wet cheeks and fixed him with the most sincere gaze Juno had seen from him since the night in the hotel. “After we handle this, Juno, we’re going to talk. I’ve been...foolish. We both have.”

Juno wondered if he was imagining the shimmer of tears in Peter’s eyes for a half second before Peter’s lips were on his, gentle. 

Peter smoothed his thumbs over Juno’s cheekbones, then let him go, flipping his knives out of his sheaths as he stepped into the cargo bay. 

“Mister Lukas,” he said coolly. “A pleasure.”

“Wish I could say the same,” the old man said. “You’ve just severed my entertainment for the...what time is it? Is it nighttime? So hard to tell.”

“Hardly important,” Peter said. “I think it’s time you returned to where you came from.”

“Oh, have you been to the institute?” the old man’s eyes glittered, and Juno felt sick. “How are my employees doing?”

“They’re absolutely peachy,” Peter assured him. That didn’t seem to be what Lukas wanted to hear. 

Rita finally finished sputtering in surprise. “Mista Algernon! When did you get back?” 

“Just a moment ago, Miss Rita. I’ll explain later.” He pointed a knife at Lukas, who only raised an eyebrow. “Uncuff the man, please.”

“Miss Buddy’s got the keys,” Rita said, and Peter sighed. 

“I’ll do it myself, then. Rita, shout if he does anything reckless." Peter spirited a set of lock picks out of his jacket pocket and set to work on the handcuffs. 

A slight breeze brushed the back of Juno’s neck, and he turned his head just in time to see a woman with flyaway hair and _oh god were those her hands--? _He leapt away, reaching for the blaster that _Buddy still had, dammit. _

“Helen,” Peter said smoothly. “Be a dear, and escort this man back to the archives?”

“Gladly, Mister Bell,” the woman said, in a voice that sounded like a migraine. She reached one horrific limb towards the man, who paled. 

“What are you?”

“Oh, I’m much the same thing as you, Captain,” she said, with a chuckle that echoed through the room far too many times. “I think it’s time to go home, now, don’t you?”

Peter opened the cuffs with a click, and stepped back. Lukas rubbed at his wrists, watching Helen with an expression Juno wasn’t sure how to categorize. Not quite fear, but definitely something more than concern. 

“You heard the lady!” Rita said finally, propping her hands on her hips. “Get off our ship, you--you _creepy old man_!”

Juno choked back a laugh at the startled expression on Lukas’s face. In the space between blinks, something appeared on the wall to his left. When he turned to look, it was a door, old dark wood, with a brass handle. He stared at it.

“After you, Captain,” Helen said. Lukas watched her for another long moment before shrugging and putting his mask of nonchalance back on, and crossing to the door.

“Well, gentlemen. Lady. It’s been a pleasure,” he said, with a tilt of his cap.

“It really hasn’t,” Juno said darkly.

The man chuckled. “You especially, Juno.” He looked Juno up and down with a smile that made his skin crawl.

A knife embedded itself in the door next to his head. “Final warning, Lukas,” Peter said coldly. 

“Do be nicer to my doors, please,” Helen remarked.

“My apologies, Helen,” Peter said, not sounding at all repentant. 

With a final laugh and a shake of his head, Peter Lukas opened the door and stepped through. Helen followed after, and Juno felt as though he could take a deep breath for the first time all morning.

He sagged against the wall, and in the time it took him to look away, the door disappeared. He glanced at Nureyev, saw him staring at the space where the door had been. 

So was Rita, but instead of being coolly unreadable, her expression was something just shy of rapture. 

“That was _super excitin’ _Mista Steel, that was just like this one stream I saw a couple months ago--”

Juno turned his gaze back to Peter, and found him wearing the same look of fond exasperation he could feel on his own face. Juno cracked a smile, and Peter grinned in return. He felt his heart starting to knit back together, just a bit, and hope swelled in his chest like a balloon. 

Later, they’d talk. But right then, listening to Rita ramble about a ridiculous stream in the cargo bay after the worst morning Juno had had in a long time, it was just enough to feel Peter’s eyes on him, warm under the cool white of the lights.

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, Look At This Amazing Art from @skitpost on Tumblr:
> 
> https://skitpost.tumblr.com/post/188315034362/have-you-ever-wondered-what-would-happen-if


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